


In Return

by coveredbyroses



Series: Birthday Drabbles 2018 [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:50:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: There’s very little you won’t do to get behind Baby’s wheel.





	In Return

“Come on, dude…please?” you whine over the gleaming roof of the impala as Dean shoves the gas pump back in its slot.

“Look, sweetheart,” Dean turns, folds his arms over the black paint. “This ain’t just any car this is––”

“Baby,” you finish. “I know, Dean. She’s your baby…but I’ll be real careful! I  _promise_.”

Dean chews at the inside of his cheek, looks off to the side, and shakes his head. “Honey, she just don’t drive as smooth as modern––”

“I’ll make it worth your while…” You feel a swell of pride at how decadently low you’re able deepen your voice on command.

Even from across the car––and in broad daylight––you can see how Dean’s eyes darken, how the bolt of his jaw bulges just under his skin.

“Seriously, kid?” he asks, lips pulled in a half-smirk. “You’re gonna put out just to get behind my baby’s wheel?”

“Yup,” you say, popping the P, unblinking eyes steeled on his.

“Kay,” he says, pushing off the car to cross his arms over his chest. “We’re ten miles from the bunker. You make me come before we get there…and she’s yours for a day.”

“Y-you mean while you’re driving?” you squeak, immediately swiveling your head left and right, scanning for eavesdroppers.

Dean tips his head in a firm nod. “That’s the deal, honey. Take it or leave it.”

You can feel the rumble of the black beast’s engine through the weight of Dean’s heavy dick in your mouth. You’re on your knees, ass high in the air as you bob up and down his broad shaft, one hand clasped around the root of him, the other braced against the seatback as you work his length.

You can’t see of course, but you can just imagine his pale knuckles against the black of the steering wheel, the twisting of his brows, slack of his peppered jaw above you…You’re slick between the thighs at just the imagery, and you have half the mind to tell him to pull over—but you don’t.

Because that’s not part of the deal.

The leather groans as Dean shifts, bucks his hips up, shoving himself a little deeper—you let him, backing off a couple of inches so that he can fuck up into the wet oven of your mouth.

He’s panting now, a wayward grunt pushing from his his chest every now and then. You hollow your cheeks, tightening the slick channel he’s thrusting into—and then he thumps his big hand against the back of your head, holds you down and against him—and then he’s spurting salty-wet jets of come onto the back of your tongue, down your throat.

You swallow it all down in loud, wet gulps, make a show of it. You lean up, wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand.

The car slows, drifts to the gravelly shoulder, and rolls to a stop. Dean shoves it in park, tips his head back against his seat. His faced is flushed-damp, lids heavy.

“Alright,” he breathes, still panting. “Well done, she’s yours for the day.”

“Starting now?!” You beam, eyes gleeful-bright.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles, lazy and satisfied. “Yeah, you definitely earned it.”


End file.
